


Hidden Things Exposed

by Lacerta09 (lovelyannelid)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Other, Tentacles, bottom!tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:10:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyannelid/pseuds/Lacerta09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is bewitched and burgled by the B.A.D.  Girls’ Black Mamba. Some of Tony’s darkest desires are explored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Things Exposed

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the events of Iron Man 3, but before Civil War. I’ve chosen to go with an interpretation of Tony NOT removing his arc reactor. I like cyborgs. In this fic he still has it. Also there is no happy ending to this. Just some Tony torture. Enjoy.

 

Hidden Things Exposed

 

The first warning Tony Stark ignored was how all the lights in his lab abruptly dropped to half power.

                “Stop screwing around, Friday,” Tony ordered. He didn’t lift his eyes from the holographic plans before him. “Double the lights in here.”

                “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Friday replied from laboratory speakers embedded in the reinforced concrete and steel beams of her master’s fortress and workspace. The lights, however, intensified to something resembling normal power. It was still dim.

                “Good girl, now leave me alone,” Tony said. He’d play with Friday later if she was anxious for attention. He didn’t remember adding that feature, and part of his mind absently noted the possibility she’d achieved sentience. Neat.

He returned to work.

                The second warning Tony Stark ignored was a curious sound; the click of high heels when there should have been none. His first thought went to a particular redhead. He resisted the urge to lift his head and look, because his pride wouldn’t allow him to look so eager and excited at her surprise visit. His automatic instincts let her make the authentic gesture, while he stuck to quips and brainless flirting. Pride drove him to achieve, but it exacted a terrible price from his personal relationships.

                When there were no more high heel clicks, Tony took a sip of coffee and waited… and then dismissed the entire thing as his restless, lonely imagination. How embarrassing. Something made a sound like a woman’s shoe and he turned into a panting dog.

Stung by his own neediness, Tony threw himself back to work.

                The last warning he paid attention to, but by then it was far too late.

                The corner of his eye registered a shape—humanoid, in shadow- where empty space should have been. For a moment he considered ignoring it, but the other oddities of the evening finally twigged Tony’s sense of caution. He looked and a bolt of adrenaline shocked him like a bucket of cold water: a hooded figure with a wicked, feminine smile stood four bodylengths away, one manicured hand extended towards him with fingers curled into claws.

Later, he’d tell himself that his first course of action should have been to summon his armour then and there, but when he fixed his eyes on the figure an awful vertigo gripped him and dizziness washed over his brain. The world shifted into the soupy, inexact reality of dreams and Tony sat, stunned, instead of pressing the panic button on his watch. Oh, yeah. His watch. He could press the panic button on his watch. Tony swallowed and looked to his wrist, eyebrows furrowed. Before his eyes, the watch shimmered and morphed from a tasteful Jaeger-LeCoultre into a child’s Donald Duck watch.

Tony pressed the watch face anyways, just in case his armour would fly in and shatter this weird reality with its presence. He waited with expectation in his heart. Beneath his thumb, Donald quacked.

“Hey!” rasped Donald in his cartoony voice. “Let a fellah breathe!”

Tony yelped, and yanked his hand from his opposite wrist. He brought the watch to his eyes. An unanimated, static Donald Duck drawing stared back at him. His eyes flicked to where the shadowed figure had stood. Nothing.

Tony pressed the watch. No Donald voice. 

“What the fuck?” he wondered aloud.  

 Was he awake? Had he nodded off while working? Nothing felt real.

The shadow. The shadow must have caused this, Tony decided. He wasn’t dreaming, he was under attack, and whatever it was that threatened wanted to keep him and his suit apart. Tony snorted in contempt. Nothing would keep him from victory now. Dopey or not, soupy dreamworld or not, suit or not, Tony was the Invincible Iron Man. He unfastened his useless Donald Duck wristwatch and dropped it on the floor.

He slapped his hands on the arms of his rolling chair and pushed himself to his feet. The initial rush of dizziness and vertigo had been disorienting, but Tony could compensate. Years of flight and mid-air dogfights honed his balance and he stood without a wobble. He’d been confused, but things felt clear now. He had a problem to solve.

“Hard part’s over,” Tony muttered to himself. He reached over his desk to slap the panic button that glowed with comforting blue light—but as his hand descended the button shimmered and shifted into a live blue crab, pincers extended. Tony yanked his hand away as the creature clicked its pinchers in the air and scuttled sideways off the table and clunked into a trashcan.

Tony exhaled roughly. He’d have to go downstairs and enter his suit manually. Fine.

He was halfway to the door when he tripped. Something snagged his ankle as he strode past, yanked, and spilled Tony to the floor. He caught himself on his hands and looked down his body to the warm thing that grabbed his ankle.

A tentacle.

Dark red sickened the slimy skin of the tentacle, and moisture dripped to the floor and soaked into Tony’s pantleg. As he stared in shock the thing twisted another corkscrew around his ankle and shin. It squeezed, and Tony realized that he might be in trouble.

 He kicked with his free heel, but a second crimson tentacle squirmed from behind a desk and snaked its way across the floor.

“Shit,” Tony hissed, too stressed for a wisecrack as he flipped to his back and tried to three-legged crabwalk away. The knot of warm tentacle on his right leg tensed and his progress halted, bound by a leash of flesh. The other tentacle found his left leg and wound itself around the man’s limb in a heated, restrictive grip.

Where were the tentacles coming from? Tony whipped his head around as he looked for a weapon, and to his dismay he saw more splashes of a familiar red emerging from vents, from drawers, from behind furniture, and from impossible locations. Some waved in the air, some snaked their wiggling way in a path for Tony, and all dripped a clear substance from their moist, slimy skin.

 A tentacle whipped around his left wrist and Tony threw himself towards the desk. A letter opener, a gift from Black Widow, glinted like a beacon of hope. His fingers stopped a hair’s breadth from the handle before a fourth tentacle slipped around his bicep and squeezed hard.

“Ahh!” Tony cried in alarm and growing panic. He was suitless, restrained and alone while under attack. He couldn’t even reach a letter opener, let alone suit up.

The tentacles moved as one and Tony was dragged backwards across the floor by the impossibly strong appendages.  Without any apparent effort, they lifted him until he hung from his wrists, chest heaving as more and more tentacles swarmed from every conceivable crevice towards him. His lab was a writhing mess; pens, papers, lamps, files and coffee mugs crashed to the floor as the tentacles ignored every obstacle in their quest to restrain the Iron Man.

It didn’t occur to Tony to cry out for help. This was his problem, not his teammates’. He’d solve it or die trying, and as a fifth tentacle squirmed up the back of his shirt and wrapped itself around his throat, he thought that the second option looked more and more likely.

He was afraid. Angry, focused, but afraid.

The hot tentacle around his throat had suckers and they attached to the sensitive skin of his neck. He swallowed hard, and in response the tentacle squeezed. Tony rasped, his air intake restricted and the man thought he’d be strangled then and there--but the tentacle stopped at an unfriendly amount of pressure. Tony gasped and coughed, then sucked in a wheezed breath. He could breathe. Kinda.

He wheezed in another breath, head spinning from oxygen deprivation.  

Shit. This didn’t look good. Could it get worse?

More and more tentacles twisted around his thighs, his waist, they squirmed up his sleeves and up his pantlegs. The slimy, smooth texture of the appendages slid around Tony’s flesh, and his clothes provided no protection. Something in the tentacles’ moisture reacted with the fibres and the superhero heard a sizzling sound. His clothing loosened around his body.

No. No, he didn’t want to be naked, in addition to being restrained and helpless. He absolutely did not want to be naked. Tony kicked, he squirmed and he writhed in the tentacles’ grip, but it was impossible; he could only kick and claw the air with no apparent effect, and every time he moved more and more cloth tatters fell to the floor.

“No, no, no!” Tony gurgled through a chokehold. No! He refused to accept defeat! He’d thrash until exhaustion and establish any form of resistance possible, even if it was just in his head. Tony Stark did not give up. Tony Stark did not go quietly into that good night.  Tony Stark would die with a smirk on his face and his enemies’ plans in ashes.

Oxygen deprivation held him in a fuzzy vise, one where the tentacles’ grip was one of firm, tight pressure that bordered on pain. Tony gathered his wits and he swallowed, sucked in breath after breath. He willed the fear to clear his head and reveal a solution to him.

The blunt end of a tentacle nosed with insistence across his lower lip.

This answered his earlier question: things could get much worse. He yanked his head away but the slimy, hot, thick tentacle followed.

He clamped his mouth shut and pursed his lips, desperate not to be further choked. He hung in midair, chest heaving in his panic. He needed his mouth to talk, to wisecrack, to breathe! The tentacle’s blunt head slid across his lips, pushed against his mouth with its slimy, heated flesh and left a salty, slightly bitter taste on his lower lip.

“Nngh!” Tony managed, disgusted, as the cloth-dissolving slime smeared across his lips and into his nose. The slime tingled on his lips and Tony did his best not to swallow any of the strange substance.

The tentacle’s slit head pushed through his lips and encountered Tony’s clenched teeth. Some of the appendage’s liquid squeezed through his teeth and tingled on his tongue. He resisted the urge to swallow and let his saliva dribble from the side of his mouth. He felt nothing but disgust.

The tentacle around his throat squeezed, then relaxed by a fraction and Tony’s reflexes betrayed him; he opened his mouth to suck in more sweet oxygen.

The tentacle at his lips wasted no time and invaded the slight gap the Iron Man provided in his desperation not to choke. The heated flesh of a tentacle quested down the back of Tony’s throat and the man gagged hard. Stars swam behind his eyes as the intruder filled his throat and poured more and more of the foul slime down his throat. He gagged around the shaft, and his throat and chest tingled with an alien warmth.

Iron Man sucked in breath after breath through his nostrils but it wasn’t enough. His consciousness danced in the borderlands between awareness and darkness as Tony retched around the hot intrusion.

Why were the tentacles toying with him like this?

Tony felt exposed and naked, though he wasn’t cold. The tentacles were very warm, and they gripped his ankles and thighs, his wrists and biceps. The tentacles wound criss-cross over his chest and snugly around his hips. He was midair, naked and entirely restrained—and now a smaller tentacle quested between his thighs.

“Hrrrnnngh!” Tony vocalized around his gag. A hot presence nudged under his balls and cock. He kicked and squirmed, but the warm tentacle followed his movements patiently. Tony twisted and bucked with the thick intrusion between his legs, but soon enough the man exhausted himself—and the tentacle resumed its gentle teasing of his delicate flesh.

“Hrnnnngh…” Tony groaned in humiliation as he felt his cock fill with blood against his will. The wet, hot skin of the tentacle felt like slickened lips and fingers massaging the space behind his balls. The tentacle curved under his torso and stroked up, into him, and the Iron Man’s thighs tensed as he struggled not to open his legs.

It felt good.

Tony had never had a lover pay such careful, considerate attention to his balls and taint before, and it weren’t at the appendages of a faceless monster he might have enjoyed it. As it was, Tony told himself that his body was just reacting to stimuli. Action, reaction. Action, reaction. It was a mindless monster on him. This meant nothing.

Darkness closed in on the edges of his vision as his nostrils flared and he sucked in pitiful lungful after pitiful lungful. It wasn’t enough. His chin touched his chest as he fell off the razor’s edge tightrope of consciousness.

The member in his throat withdrew. Iron Man coughed, head hanging, and a line of drool and the monster’s slime hung from his lips. He rasped in clearing breath after clearing breath, lifted his head—and before he could muster the will to clench his throat, the salty, wet head  of the tentacle gagged him again.

So this was its game, Tony thought with a knot of worry forming in his chest; keep him just barely conscious. Keep him dopey. Keep him drugged.

He bit.

The tentacle in his mouth didn’t react. It didn’t tense. The rubbery, durable skin skated beneath his teeth and the hero was unable to dig his teeth into the flesh. He bit again, again, stretched jaw overworked to the point of a throbbing pain, and all to no apparent effect on his tentacle-gag. It continued to throb in his throat and work itself deeper, deeper—how far? He wondered. To his belly? Fear and perverse curiosity curdled in Tony’s heart and he gave up biting. It was a waste of his strength and he was dizzy, so dizzy…

The presence between his legs hit a particularly potent spot. Stars cavorted behind Tony’s eyes and a deep, primal groan from below his belly vibrated the tentacle in his throat. His back arched as the tentacle redoubled its efforts and his throat worked in a different kind of spasm around the tentacle in his throat. In that moment, to Tony’s shame, the gag felt good—like a thick, comforting presence he could let his mouth suck on while the slick, wet warmth between his legs worked its magic.

His cock throbbed in the comparatively cool air, swollen and heavy with blood.

                A tentacle thicker at the end than most rose from the squirming miasma of coils beneath Tony and paused like a cobra before his erect, dripping cock. The man groaned into the wreck of his office, and the thicker tentacle split at the tip before it glided forward and teased the head of his erection.

                “Nnnahh!” exclaimed Tony, eyes wide as something started suction on his dick. He couldn’t see it, and any enjoyment he might have gained was blotted out by fear. The man twisted his head to try and see what was happening in that delicate area.  He turned and twisted, until a pair of tentacles wrapped around Tony’s head in a living, slimy blindfold.

                The world went black. Well, mostly. There was a sliver of vision if he tilted his head all the way back. But near-complete blackness.  

                The ‘mouth’ on his cock moved deeper, swallowed more of him, and Tony’s attention returned to the most important ‘problem’ facing him now: the aching, throbbing pleasure of the tentacle that worked with tireless, inhuman precision. It bobbed on his cock and Tony moaned around his slimy gag, blinded with cheeks a ruddy, flushed red.

                The tentacle on his cock quickened, and the tentacles between his legs moved in harmony as Tony’s body was worked like a machine. He whined out his pleasure as it bobbed, whined as it sucked his cock the way he wished a lover would—they way he wished Steve would—

                He whimpered.

                The faceless tentacle monster teased him and worked him like an instrument until stars swam in his vision and Tony—

                Darkness crawled at the edges of his vision, but the dizziness only spun him higher. Oxygen deprivation took Tony’s sense of time and place as he asphyxiated. He existed free of his restraints. He floated in his mind, easier than he did with his Iron Man armour, and hung like a ragdoll against his tentacle-restraints in the real world.

                The gag ripped from his throat and Tony gasped, pleasure-haze broken as oxygen brought him crashing down to earth where the humiliation and fear waited. Tony took two deep breaths before the salty, tingling tentacle forced its way down his throat.

                Post-orgasm, Tony felt an awful clarity as he realized the best orgasm of his life had come from some bad guy’s pet kraken.

                The thick tentacle didn’t release his listless cock and Tony’s brown eyes widened behind his blindfold uselessly.

                He was on camera. The laboratory tapes would have it all recorded

                And if his building was damaged enough, some automatic alarms would be triggered regardless of Tony’s hallucinations, which meant that at any moment one of his allies could be on their way to rescue him.

                He would seriously have to consider suicide if Hawkeye rescued him from a bad hentai.

                Without warning, the tentacles lowered Tony to the metal floor. He tried to position his legs beneath him, but the tentacles’ strength far outstripped his own and forced him down, down. His arms and legs were bent so he knelt on all fours, restrained at each wrist and ankle, and with more tentacles squeezing him still in their hot coils.

                Tony sucked in air through his nose, newly worried.

What now?

                He was on all fours, knees spreads. That could mean only one thing. Oh, no.

                He felt it.

                A tentacle’s hot, wet head prodded against Tony’s hole.

                Fresh fight spurred the man to struggle, but his efforts were futile and he knew it. Being blown by a strange kraken was infinitely less awful than being anally fucked by a strange kraken, and Tony found himself in the bizarre position of wishing his captor would go back to the old stuff.

                The new tentacle didn’t obey his wishes. It probed further with a firm, insistent pressure and a slippery, squishy head. It pushed against the tightness, working its way inside millimeter by millimeter despite every grunt and worried whine that escaped the Iron Man’s throat.

                Tony whimpered. Later he’d deny he ever made such a sound, but in that moment he felt pure resistance to the idea of getting railed. What scared him more than the actual penetration was the fact that he knew the tentacles wanted him to like it. He was scared he’d like it. He was scared of how he’d feel about himself for liking this; being dominated and used like a laboratory animal. This was Hell, and later would be worse Hell because he’d want to escape his own enjoyment of being degraded like this—but where could he run?

Wherever he went, there he’d be. He couldn’t escape himself.

                “Nnnghhh!” he moaned. The tentacle pressured his hole open, fraction by fraction and Tony moaned again in fear and despair even as notes of pleasure ascended his spine.

                Legs splayed open, the tentacles at his knees tugged his legs further apart, and now Tony found he couldn’t resist the thick organ in his hole any longer. Each time he relaxed, it pushed inside him by an inch. When he tightened, it stopped and pulsed warmly.

                It felt disturbingly good.

                And, Tony told himself, he wasn’t really in any position to fight. It’d be so easy to just relax and let the tentacles do whatever they wanted with him. It was clear he was overpowered.

                More stiff tentacle pushed inside Tony and shifted, withdrew, then pushed in at a new angle. Again and again it explored, and each time the hero relaxed into his blind, helpless state with a gasp of pleasure. His throat worked on the tentacle in his throat as the monster spit roasted him, and he swallowed more and more of the creature’s tingling, intoxicating slime. 

                It was okay, he told himself, he was naked, overpowered and blind. He couldn’t do anything.

                An insistent part of his mind prodded him with an inconvenient fact; he could still hear.

But there was nothing to hear, he countered.

                Had he tried? asked that same part of his mind and Tony was forced to admit that no, he had been a little more focused on the tentacles that invaded his lab and jerked him off.

                Just trying to help, jackass, replied that small part snottily as it retreated and Tony had to wonder why he was such a shit to people, even himself. Especially himself.  

                He listened.

                His own labored breaths and the writhing tentacles movements were the most obvious sounds, and beneath those he heard the occasional spark of a shorted electrical circuit, some dripping water from a burst pipe, the wind in the broken windows and… the elevator shaft hummed.

                Someone was on their way up.

                The elevator chimed.

                Someone was here.

                Terror. Mindless fear gripped Tony as he contemplated what his rescuer would find: Iron Man in a nest of tentacles being used like a paper towel, ass and mouth overflowing with monster slime and legs skewed wider than the horizon.

                He tried to scream, but his gag muted him to another pathetic whimper.

                The elevator doors whispered open.

                Tony’s hands formed fists of humiliated anger as he waited to hear either the click of a woman’s boots or the heavier tread of a man. Who’d been the first to come investigate the strange happenings and anomalous signals originating from Tony’s lab?

                Boots. No high-heel clicks. It was all man, baby.

                Tony’s consciousness swam as a hot mix of panic, humiliation and anxiety washed over him like a fever. He couldn’t breathe. He was so humiliated that the thought of choking to death right then and there seemed downright merciful. So he didn’t try to help himself as he gagged so hard stars formed behind his blinded eyes and his throat closed around his gag.

                Tony Stark was going to die by tentacle fuck, and this was pretty much the worst way to go. The only thing left was to pray for a swift end.

                It didn’t matter which one of his male allies had arrived first: each option was equally awful.

                But maybe not as awful as…

                Oh, no.

                Tony heard a familiar sigh, and he needed a facial expression to tell if it was a disappointed sigh or an amused sigh. They sounded alike. But he knew that husky tone.

                “Oh, Tony,” said Steve’s voice as if Tony were a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.  “I’m the only one who could come. Lucky no one else is around. What a mess you’re in, huh?”

                Tony whined around his gag, stuffed up the ass by a thick tentacle and his hard, throbbing cock massaged every few moments by another tentacle’s delicate movements. He couldn’t reply, even though his instinct was to snark back. No matter the circumstances, he never wanted to be considered dull. Strange how some things remained a priority, even when he was laid open for his rescuer to see.

                Steve’s boots circled around behind Tony and paused.

                Tony huffed around his gag, embarrassed, but waiting for the inevitable rescue. Steve wasn’t the type to take pics on his smartphone and show the world.

                Right?

                Tony swallowed around the gag in anxiety, still blindfolded by a pair of sloppy, hot tentacles, and he twisted his head as if he could shake them off. The tentacles regripped his head.

                “I should probably free you. I will. Soon…” Steve said in the silence.

                The unspoken ‘but’ was enough to make Tony’s heart squeeze in fresh panic. What was going on? Why wouldn’t Steve free him? Of all the Avengers to rescue Iron Man, Captain America was the most benign, the least likely to hold this over his head later. Why would Steve ever pause before helping his nearest ally?

                “But I gotta admit, I’m—into you. Like this,” said Steve in a low, rough voice. “Stark Industries, open for business.”

                No.

                Tony’s shoulders jerked as he realized what was happening. The tentacles moved with him, tensing as he exhausted his strength in a brief struggle. They forced the man back to his hands and knees on the broken floor.

                Tony couldn’t lie to himself. The idea that Steve might suddenly want him was flattering, gratifying and moving, but like this? How could Steve see him humiliated and feel lust? Why were the words of a predator in his friend’s mouth?

                “It’s getting me…  Look, this might be my only chance,” Steve continued. “I know you’re into women. Obviously. But I’ll never get another chance like this.”

                No.

This wasn’t how he wanted Steve to have him.  

                He wanted Steve to want him, sure, but not like this. Not unless Steve knew he wanted him back. It didn’t feel right!

                 A weight thudded behind Tony, inside his knees. Cloth and leather; Captain America’s pants.

Tony could feel the fabric and texture of the other man’s pants as Steve’s knees forced his own further apart. One strong hand found the centre of his back and pushed down, and Tony’s back bowed to compensate as the helpless man exhaled a whuff of air.

                “Like that,” Steve murmured. “Face on the floor.”

                “Nnnahh—“ Tony moaned, and he wasn’t sure why he didn’t force his way to his elbows. He let his forehead rest of the ground, knees spread. Oh, right, because he didn’t want to fight.              

                Steve could have him. He wanted it, and ultimately, would Tony say no if Steve wanted to fuck his ass like this? No.

                A piece of Tony broke in two at that negotiation with realty. Maybe he could even enjoy it.

                The hand left his back, but Tony kept his forehead on the floor. He listened as Captain America shifted armour and clothing. A moment later, one warm hand found the crook of Tony’s trim hip.

                “Hold still,” Steve ordered in the darkness, and the tentacle in Tony’s hole tensed as it was dragged backwards.

                “Nnn-!” Tony exclaimed in surprise.

                “Don’t clench!” Steve added, and steadily rid Tony’s guts of the squirming intruder.

He held firm when the tentacle squirmed, then tugged when it tired, and after a few moments the slick tentacle popped from the bound man’s ass.

Tony waited in darkness and on display, and his leg jumped when Steve’s hand rested on his ass. The other man’s thumb pushed into Tony’s stretched hole easily, lubed by the tentacle’s slime, and Tony moaned around his gag as nerves fired under the other man’s touch.

“You can even feel that?” Steve laughed and he pushed his thumb into the last knuckle and hooked it a few times inside Tony.

Size didn’t matter to Tony so much as who did it. He felt intensely conscious of the fact that Steve had decided to take advantage of Tony’s state, and Tony didn’t know how he felt about it. Should he be happy they had a first time? Upset that Steve hadn’t bothered to ask Tony about if he wanted it? Should he relax and enjoy? Should he be angry that Steve hadn’t bothered to ungag him?

A dark part of Tony snickered at his feeble protests. Given the kind of weapons dealing, people-using scum Tony knew he was, he should have known better than to expect something romantic like a painless or considerate first time with Steve. What kind of romantic garbage had he hoped for? Sex behind a waterfall with a unicorn looking on?

“I asked, can you even feel this?” repeated Steve and he pushed his thumb to the base inside Tony and rotated his wrist.

For a second Steve’s finger dragged over something magical. Tony exhaled a short moan around his slimy gag when Steve touched his prostate with a hooked thumb, and Steve answered his sound with a low chuckle.

“You’re a bottom, huh?” Steve commented and he repeated his earlier hand movements. He quested for the right spot until the muscles at the small of Tony’s back tensed in pleasure and the bound man gurgled slime and saliva onto a puddle beneath his cheek.

Steve’s hand hooked under his hip kept Tony’s ass high and now the bound man sagged in his restraints. He’d just go with the flow and let himself be pleasured. Whatever Steve wanted, he could have. His touch felt good, and for the moment Tony willed himself to forget about the tentacles and enjoy.

He’d even have the video later.

A guilty, juicy shudder ran up Tony’s spine as he considered what they’d look like on camera together when Steve finally fucked him raw. He’d intended to delete those tapes as soon as possible before, but now Tony knew he’d keep them forever.  Captain America in his most primal state would be Tony’s secret.

Steve thought Tony was blinded because of the tentacles around his head, but the bound man had eyes all over the room that watched the blonde man’s every move. His facial expressions, his tone of voice and body language would be Tony’s to pore over in privacy.

So he wanted to make a good show.

The next time Steve pushed his thumb to the base in him, Tony pushed back. He sank onto the other man’s finger with a grateful moan, determined to enjoy himself, and he heard Steve exhale a breath of appreciation.

“Knew you’d be into something like this. You’re that type,” Steve said as he let Tony work his back and ass muscles around his strong, thick digit.  “Aren’t you? Maybe have to get some handcuffs…”

Tony couldn’t answer, and now he had to wonder if he would disagree. He felt good, and the idea of being handcuffed and at Steve’s mercy thrilled him. He sucked in air through his nose and closed his eyes behind the tentacle-blindfold.

Steve stopped his hand and let Tony back onto his finger a few more times before he withdrew entirely. Ass empty, Tony huffed in the darkness and swallowed around the hot tentacle that pulsated in his throat. He knew what was coming, and Steve wasted no time.

A blunt object nosed Tony’s hole and the bound man couldn’t repress a shiver of anticipation. He held still, forehead on the floor, blind, knees spread, and huffed with the desire to feel Steve’s cock inside him. It surprised Tony how badly he wanted it, now that it was near.

Steve’s hand on Tony’s hip held the smaller man from impatiently impaling himself and Tony whined in his throat.

“Just relax,” Steve murmured, and he eased his hips forward. His cock pushed at Tony’s entrance before the slickened, loosened flesh gave way.

“Nnnnn—“ whined the smaller man as the pressure built at his entrance and his sensitive, heated flesh tingled at the sensation of a hard cock demanding entrance. Finally, the pressure gave way as the head of Steve’s cock popped into Tony’s ass. Both men groaned, held still and savoured the moment.

Tony’s consciousness swam. His breaths came fast and shallow, and the pleasure of Steve’s cock in his ass swamped him in a confusing wave. He’d bottomed before, thought it felt fine, but preferred women overall. This, however, was more intense than any male-female encounter he’d ever had. Tony’s cock strained and pulsed with his heartbeat in a tentacle’s grip, and he finally keened for Steve to move.

“Hahhh—“ exhaled Steve and he pushed his hips forward, stretching Tony with his intruding cock. He panted, both hands gripping Tony’s hips with bruising force, and dragged the smaller man backwards, onto his erection.

Tony keened, ass full of his best friend’s cock. He tensed down when Steve pulled out, and in response the fingers that dug into his thighs and hips regripped his flesh with pleasure. He hoped he’d have bruises later.

The pressure continued. Inch after inch fed into the bound man and it seemed like forever until Steve stopped, and the base of his belly rested on Tony’s ass. Steve’s weight crushed down into Tony, straining the muscles in the smaller man’s neck, but Tony didn’t want to move. Part of him liked submitting to Steve’s weight and will. 

“All in,” Steve muttered, and a moment later Tony moaned as the blonde man reversed the motion of his hips with slow intent. Steve pulled out until just the head remained in his friend. He adjusted his angle, gripped Tony’s hips, and steadily buried himself to the base in one long thrust.

Tony’s hand’s fisted and unfisted on the floor as his friend fucked his ass, and all he hoped for was more, faster, harder, because every time Steve bottomed out in Tony his cock snagged a sensitive spot inside the smaller man. He couldn’t breathe or see or move … and he felt nothing but pleasure.

                Steve’s thrusts quickened and his hips slammed into Tony’s ass with wet smacks of flesh on flesh and Steve’s grunts of effort and pleasure. The blonde man panted, but his frantic pace didn’t slow as he jackhammered Tony’s hole with the discipline of a soldier.

                Each thudded stroke reverberated up Tony’s spine, lifting the man higher and higher, and he felt another orgasm swelling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t tell Steve, he couldn’t touch himself, or do anything but let his pleasure mount as Steve built towards his own peak.

                He let his head hang as the relentless pressure in his ass pushed him over the edge again, and Tony’s hips rose to meet the thrusts that wrung pleasure from his oversensitive nerves. He groaned, a deeper groan than before, one from the base of his belly and one of deep satisfaction.

                “You came? Guess I don’t have to be considerate anymore,” Steve breathed with a laugh and snapped his hips forward once, twice, again. “Mmm, my turn now.”

                The sharp, sudden plunges into Tony were like knife-stabs of pleasure as he coasted his orgasm down from the peak. Again? Could he even go again? Tony moaned with a touch of anxiety as Steve’s thrusts became harder, and Steve’s breathing became harsh and animalistic. Steve wasn’t slowing down. He sped up, in fact, and grunted as he mounted his helpless friend and fucked him brainless.

                It felt good through his post-orgasm haze to know that he gave Steve pleasure. At the beginning he’d wondered if he wanted to enjoy it, and now Tony wanted Steve to enjoy it much more. A little soreness would be a small price to pay for the knowledge that Captain America had satisfied himself with the other man’s ass. Tony wanted to be of use. He wanted to let Steve prove his dominance in the bedroom and he’d submit happily now.

                Steve sweated as he worked himself into a demanding pace, hands and hips bruising his restrained partner as he took what he needed. Thrust piled on thrust, and sensation piled on sensation until Steve’s breath was ragged and he stared blindly into the middle distance. He moaned as a final thrust sealed the contract and the blonde man ground his hips into Tony’s ass with a hungry snarl. He leaned over Tony as he peaked, weight pushing what precious little air Tony had from his lungs, but the only response from the smaller man was an attempt to arch his back into the larger man’s thrust.

                Joined, they breathed together until Steve shifted after what felt like mere moments. Tony gurgled around his gag in protest, but Steve pulled out of the smaller man without a word. Tony heard the clink of a metal belt and the shifting of cloth and leather as Steve dressed.

                Still dopey, Tony waited patiently for Steve to free him. Now that they’d gotten their ‘excess energy’ dealt with, Tony felt confident his friend would remove the tentacles.

                Steve rose to his feet and circled around to Tony’s head. He knelt and a moment later, Tony felt the thick tentacles around his eyes move as Steve pulled them away. Bright light blinded the bound man and he blinked through a curtain of the tentacle’s slime.

                Steve crouched before him, but something was wrong. Instead of the familiar red, white and blue uniform of Captain America, he wore a black, white and red  uniform. A multi-tentacled skull glared from Steve’s chest in brilliant scarlet.

                Tony’s eyes flicked from the uniform to Steve’s face. What was going on?

                “Hail Hydra, the plan worked,” Steve murmured. He reached with one hand to cup Tony’s jaw, a tender, amused expression on his features. “I’ve been working for them all along.”

                Tony blink in alarm and protest, unable to believe what was happening before him. Steve, an agent of Hydra? It was impossible. Unbelievable. It couldn’t be true. This was some kind of joke.

                “Did you think I was a good man, Tony?” Steve continued. He ticked his thumb across Tony’s cheek, tone and eyes soft with mocking laughter. “Did you really think anyone who wanted YOU could be anything but a villain?”

                Tony’s eyes widened as Steve continued to speak, and the peaceful pleasure was uprooted by a growing terror. The hand on his jaw dug fingers into his neck and Steve leaned in. His mouth curled in a disdainful, nightmarish smirk.

                “Only someone broken could ever want you, Tony. Is this what you wanted? Me broken? Us together?” asked Steve, eyes aglow with a ghoulish, sadistic delight.

                Tony jerked backwards in the tentacles’ grip, fearful as the situation became more and more alarming. Steve followed his every move as Tony tried to escape, voice speaking dreadful fears from Tony’s heart.

                “Isn’t this your dream, Tony?” sneered Steve, his hands settling around Tony’s throat. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

                No. No, no, no.

                Steve’s hands gripped tight and Tony’s remaining oxygen supply was gone. Immediately, his head swam as the pressure around his throat tightened to a painful level. Panic, fear, regret and sadness swirled in Tony as Steve choked him.

                Not like this.

                “You wanted this! You wanted this and now you have it!” snarled Steve, and fingers of darkness crowded the edges of Tony’s vision. Tears formed in the smaller man’s eyes as his heart hammered uselessly and he exhausted his last breaths struggling against the immovable tentacles.

                Soon he couldn’t struggle. Soon the darkness had washed everything to grey. Everything but Steve’s blue eyes. Steve leaned in until his breath tickled Tony’s ear.

                “You deserve this,” hissed Steve as the world went black, and Tony knew no more.

 

* * *

 

 

                “Tony? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

                Steve’s voice in the darkness.

                Tony winced, afraid and guilty, and turned his head. His head moved freely as he realized he lay on his back on a cool, smooth floor. He was alive. He wasn’t restrained. He was clothed.

                “Nnnngh…” grunted Tony as he lifted one (unrestrained) hand to his temple and squinted his eyes open. A dream. It had been some kind of dream.

                Steve, eyebrows creased in concern, looked down at him from where he knelt on the floor. His uniform was red, white and blue, and no Hydra-head graced his chest. His face was the picture of worry, and the smaller man detected no malice.

Tony’s eyes swung from his friend to his laboratory. It was unsmashed except for one floor-to-ceiling window. Broken glass lay over the floor, but there was no sign of any tentacle infestation. He sat up and looked down his body; he lay behind his desk. He’d collapsed sideways from his chair, spilled his coffee and torn off his wristwatch.

“How--?” Tony started, suspicious and confused.

“Your security system tagged the break-and-enter about an hour ago. Your window was smashed, and the falling glass killed two civilians, injured fourteen. When you didn’t show at the accident site, I went here. I found you passed out on the floor,” Steve explained as he scratched his forehead. “You were twitching and moaning. What happened?”

“I—uh, don’t know. I was attacked with some kinda Jedi mind fuckery,” Tony replied as he patted his own legs and arms. The dreamy sensation that overlaid the tentacle attack was gone, and the fresh, crisp taste of reality replaced it. It was clear now he’d been dreaming before. He glanced at Steve from the corner of his eye and the other man caught the suspicious glance.

“What’s a Jedi?” asked Steve.

“I, uh, nothing,” Tony replied, and he looked away. “Some mental psycho nuthouse shit.”

“So you hallucinated,” Steve added. “What did you see?”

Tony didn’t reply, except to carefully push himself to his feet. No vertigo or dizziness. The dream-spell had definitely passed. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at Steve, who looked at him with a serious expression.

What was Tony supposed to say here? He exhaled a terse breath.

“I saw myself,” Tony said after a long pause. He looked at his feet. “It wasn’t pretty.”

 “Hey, uh,” Steve said in the silence. “I’m just gonna help you clean this up and then take a spare bedroom. In case they come back.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tony said quickly. “I don’t think—“

“Tony, I’m your friend,” Steve reassured him. “ It’s no problem.”

“You shouldn’t—“ Tony started, but Steve cut him off.

“It’s decided. Just relax. Go take a shower or something, I’ll find a broom,” Steve said, and he waved his hand at Tony as if he could flick the other man into the bathroom. “Seriously, you’re soaked in sweat.”

“Mom, cool it,” Tony snapped. “I need to find out who did this.”

The inventor strode unsteadily across his lab to the largest display screen in the room. His hand on the table provided his authentication and the security menu resolved before Tony.

Steve stood and drifted to hang behind Tony’s shoulder as the Iron Man summoned a feed of the last hour to the main screen and hit set it to a quick-play.

On the display, Tony worked in his lab. He took sips of his coffee and leaned back several times. Suddenly behind him a woman’s dark form stepped into view and pointed a manicured finger at him.

Tony slowed the video to realtime and hit play, because he had a feeling what would happen next.

On screen, Tony said, “Stop screwing around, Friday. Double the lights in here.”

The lights, of course, hadn’t dimmed. He’d just been enchanted.

The woman stepped in beside Tony at the desk and placed his hand on the scanner. Screen-Tony didn’t resist or react except to say, “Good girl. Now leave me alone.”

The woman, dressed in a black, snake-themed costume, now had access to his computer. As Screen-Tony stared at nothing and fiddled with his watch, the woman inserted a disk into his mainframe and extracted several classified files of government and private interests.

“Oh—“ Steve said, hand ghosting up to cover his mouth. “Oh, no.”

 Beside him, Tony burned with humiliation. He was happy no one saw what was going on inside of Screen-Tony’s mind. Screen-Tony had pulled off his watch and dropped it to the floor. He stared blankly at the woman who took her data stick and stood before him.

“Idiot,” she muttered, and put her hand in the centre of his chest, over Tony’s reactor heart. She pushed. Screen-Tony tumbled backwards in his chair onto the floor, and one arm spilled his coffee across the floor. He didn’t utter a sound of pain, and collapsed like a discarded doll.

The woman smirked and skipped across the floor to the left-most window. She pulled a few sticky bits of explosive from her bag and attached them to the window at strategic points. The woman skipped back to Tony, kicked him with her toe and plugged her ears when the window blew shards of deadly glass into the night.

“Sucker,” the woman sneered and jogged across the floor, then leaped out the window.

Screen-Tony drooled as his coffee cooled into a sticky puddle under his leg.

Real-Tony hit the end button. He’d been burgled.

“So, uh, what does she have?” Steve asked. “Because it looks like she got it all.”

“Oh,” said Tony. He rested his elbow on the desk and his chin on the heel of his palm. Fierce humiliation burned his cheeks and he couldn’t even look at his comrade after he’d been disabled so easily. “She has nothing. That’s not the point, Steve.”

“She has nothing?” asked Steve. “She got—“

“I saw the tapes, Rogers,” Tony said, curt. He called up another menu, then pressed a single key on his keyboard. “But I’ve got an elevated Diffie-Hellman key exchange with all my data and I just changed the authentication variable. She just stole a bunch of computer babble. All my data is garbo unless I want you to read it.”

Steve exhaled in relief and straightened up. “So we just have to figure out who broke in and how.”

“I got this,” Tony said, still unable to look at the blonde. A new anxiety rose in Tony’s heart: who and what would Steve see if that dark woman cast her spell on Captain America? What would Steve see? He’d keep Steve from ever finding out. “It’s my problem. I got this.”

The larger man laughed, confident and brash. “Tony, if she’s going after you she’s gonna be everyone’s problem soon enough.”

“When and if that happens I’ll call you,” Tony replied, terse. A point between his shoulders ached from tension. He couldn’t look at Steve, not after the man had just given him the best fuck of his life and then strangled him to death. He leaned on the desk, eyes on the blank display. He couldn’t handle an argument now.

Steve inhaled a breath, then exhaled.

“I’m staying here tonight in case her mind-tricks affect you again,” the blonde said in a tone that implied he’d accept no bargaining. “Just in case.”

“Fine,” Tony said, voice clipped. He’d ditch Cap tomorrow to get his head on straight with a day of flying. Tony’s leg jiggled from restrained tension.

“Tony…” Steve said.

“What?” snapped the smaller man, a bundle of nerves.

“What did you hallucinate?” asked Steve, and he settled the weight of his hand on Tony’s shoulder. The other man flinched, but accepted the hand. Steve didn’t move his hand.

For a moment Tony considered telling the other man a fraction of what had happened; the terror and elation and degradation. But that moment passed when Tony remembered the Captain Hydra’s words.

Steve would have to be a different person to want someone like Tony. Probably he’d have to be someone awful to desire a wreck like the Iron Man.

Tony liked Steve as he was. Steve was a refreshing breath of authenticity in a soulless world and an inspiration to millions. He was in a class of his own. It would just be awkward for everyone involved and everyone watching if he stooped to Tony’s level.

So no, he couldn’t tell Steve about his best dream and most vivid nightmare.

“Just my own shit,” Tony said after a while and hoped Steve would leave. He felt awful but he had to do this on his own.

Steve sighed, and this time Tony heard disappointment.

“Don’t do that,” Tony complained. “Just gimme some room, okay? It was personal.”

The blonde withdrew his hand and shrugged.

“Fine,” Steve said, rebuffed but still curious. He crossed the laboratory and headed for the elevator. “I’ll get a broom.”

Tony grunted and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He needed to think. No data had been stolen, but a gaping wound had been infected with some dangerous ideas. Tony would feel Steve’s touch, hands and body on him, forever. The hallucination had been as real as reality could get.

The dark haired man closed his eyes and sighed. He didn’t know how to move forward when half of him had been vivified by the enactment of his deepest fantasy. Half of him was elated that it had happened at all, nevermind how it ended.

He’d hold this in. He’d pack it in tight and make sure he took revenge on that snake woman, make sure his teammates saw him as unassailable again. He’d nurse his heart. Tony would retake control.

He sucked in a few terse breaths and shoved the experience away and told himself that this meant he was strong. He had to be. He was Iron Man.

 

End Part I.


End file.
